Tuesday, August 07, 2007

I know how the story goes!

She hasn't been telling it to me very well. She's shy, a little passive, good at hiding things, and working too many doubles for something like sanity. It was meant to be a story about food and power and how you might do something you don't want to do (because you are a nice person who doesn't have the bad habits many people in this industry do, and because you are in a committed relationship you don't really realize you're fucking up by working as hard as you do) for someone you respect a lot. A story about how fame fits into a knife kit, about unintentional sex (if that isn't an oxymoron), about two good people making bad choices for different reasons.

(It's not a good story, yet. The chef is too flawed and she has no redeeming qualities. I should reread Kissing in Manhattan and see how he makes Patrick Rigg a likeable character. Because if she isn't at least a little desirable there's no story.)

What it ended up becoming, thus far: a story about how you cover up love as it's leaving. About how you might have to let go of what you never thought you could lose. It's still about the impossible choices, the recklessness of desire, but it leaves the kitchen a lot, with hands smelling of garlic, and it sleeps on the sofa conflicted between two woman. I'm relieved, because at least I know now where it wants to go, and it's just a matter of following it down those dark paths.

I'm going out in a bit. I think. If the cupcake slinger calls me. Until she does I'm going to work on finishing draft 1. Then another story to get out to the writers group next week, dios mio, I just want to take another look at it before I send it, and by that time my writing buddy should be finished with the story I want to submit to Bloom next. Writing versus the real world.

I bought more of those sensational grapes today (and I found out what kind they are). The tiny green ones (early muscat? something muscat) remind me of the most wonderful dessert wine I've ever had (Naravvo late harvest riesling). I'm taking a friend to Chez Panisse (the cafe) when she comes and I'm hoping they'll still have it on the menu then, so she can taste it, although by then the grapes will be gone, probably. Can't have everything. But will I EVER have decent plums again? Last year they had my favorites at the time when I came to SF. And that time is almost here. I'm growing impatient for my favorites.

What's With All The Cake Pictures, Silly?

A while ago I earned the nickname "cake" among a certain group of friends in Boston. Because I'm a baker. And because we all acquired nicknames that started with the letter C (how Sesame Street). I moved to Oakland in March to find that someone was tagging my (nick)name around the city streets. If you see a cake tag, let me know!